


don't you ever tame your demons

by ohmcgee



Series: little beasts [9]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Extreme Breathplay, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, little beasts, the everyone's fucked up verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:05:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7746040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark/Dickie. Pre-Jason. </p><p>Yup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't you ever tame your demons

“He talks funny,” Dick says. Most of his legs are hanging off the arm of the chair he’s in, the rest of his body sort of stretched out and curled up at the same time somehow. He came in just as the sun was coming up this morning and there are still dark circles around his eyes, glitter stuck in his hair from whatever party or club he was at all night. If Bruce gets too close he can smell the sweat and sex all over him. 

He tries not to get too close. 

“ _He_ is sitting right here,” Clark says pointedly and Bruce snorts, pours himself another glass of scotch. 

“Clark’s from the midwest,” Bruce explains to Dick, jaw twitching when Dick sits up as Bruce walks by and sticks his fingers down in Bruce’s highball glass, grinning up at Bruce as he slurps the whiskey off of them. 

“So what,” Dick says. “That doesn’t mean he has to talk like an asshole.”

Bruce smiles when he sees Clark’s knuckles go pale around the arm of the chair he’s in. 

“Clark is a _farmer_ ,” Bruce says, leaning back in the chair behind his desk so he can watch Clark slowly unravel comfortably. 

“You know that’s not true,” Clark grits out. Bruce swallows half the glass of scotch down, licks his lips as Clark starts to show his teeth, but Dick -- Dick’s already latched onto the idea. He’s already sprung out of his chair like he suddenly has all the energy in the world and perches in front of Clark.

“Oh man,” he says. “Did you have cows? Horses? Fuck, did you have _goats_?” He laughs, high and bubbly. “I met a goat once. Shit, are you really a farmer? Can I --”

“No,” Clark says calmly, calm in the way everything is still and quiet after a tornado wipes out everything in it’s path. “I’m not.”

“Lying’s not nice, Clark,” Bruce says, grinning at him as he tosses the rest of his scotch down. 

“I was raised on a farm,” Clark says, staring straight across the room at Bruce even though he’s speaking to Dick. “There’s a difference.”

Dick giggles, loudly and suddenly, like he just remembered something funny and turns to Bruce. “This is your big gun?” He says. “Some farmer from fuckin Missouri or somewhere? What’s he going to do, drive a tractor over Maroni?”

In the amount of time it takes Dick to finish laughing and for Bruce to open his mouth to tell Dick to _watch it_ , Clark has the kid by his throat up against the wall squeezing the life out of him. 

“Clark,” Bruce says calmly, walking over to put his hand on Clark’s shoulder. “Let him go. Now.”

Clark just grins at him and leans in to whisper next to Dick’s ear. “Always so bossy, isn’t he?” He murmurs, then he’s letting go over Dick’s throat and Dick gasps and _stares_ at Clark, his eyes the brightest black Bruce has ever seen and wide as quarters. 

“Alright,” Bruce clears his throat. “Close the doors behind you, Dick. Clark and I have business to discuss.”

 

: : :

 

Dick’s waiting on the bannister as soon as Clark leaves Bruce’s office an hour or so later. He’s perched on it like a fucking bird and his hair is all crazy, almost like he’d been hanging upside down. 

“What,” Clark says when he notices he’s being _stared_ at. 

“Nothing,” Dick shrugs, sliding down and off the bannister fluidly and gracefully landing on his feet. 

“Nice dismount,” Clark snorts, looking for the way out. He always gets lost in this fucking haunted house. “Bruce find you at the ballet?”

“Circus,” Dick says and demonstrates his statement with a cartwheel followed up by a backbend. “I’m pretty,” Dick starts, making a show of licking his lips until they’re a shiny pink. “Flexible.”

“Uh huh,” Clark says, taking a step back. “Bruce --”

“Is totally having phone sex with Harvey right now,” Dick says and Clark bats his hands away when Dick starts tracing the scar on his cheek. Or --

He means to, but what he actually does is grab Dick by his wrist. It’s a fucking tiny wrist with tiny little bones and Clark immediately flashes back to when he had Dick against the wall in Bruce’s office, the way his eyes lit up as Clark applied enough pressure to cut his oxygen off. 

“Shit,” Clark says, letting go and stepping back. “No. Bruce would --”

Bruce would _kill_ him is what. In a hand to hand fight Clark could take Bruce out hands down, but the problem is Bruce is a fucking sneaky bastard and Clark has no doubt that if he puts his dick anywhere _near_ Bruce’s new little toy he’ll find out just how sneaky and creative the evil bastard can be. 

“What?” Dick asks. “Are you afraid of him or something?”

Clark’s jaw twitches. 

Dick _grins_.

“C’mon,” he says, grabbing Clark by the arm. “Lemme give you the tour.”

 

: : :

 

They don’t even make it to the third floor before Dick stops in a stairwell and starts mouthing at Clark through his jeans. 

“Don’t --” Dick says before he sucks Clark down. “Don’t hold back.”

Clark wouldn’t know how to even if he wanted to, especially with the filthy noises Dick makes as he slurps and sucks at him like he’s so fucking starved for cock he’s dying. 

“Fuck,” he says, grabbing Dick’s hair roughly. “You’re not getting this from him, are you?”

Honestly, he’d just assumed -- _everyone_ pretty much assumed that Bruce had taken the kid in because of his pretty mouth and tight little ass, but --

“Shut up,” Dick says and digs his nails so deep into Clark’s skin that Clark’s teeth bite into his lower lip. “And fuck me.”

Clark pushes him into one of the nearest rooms, one filled with old paintings and furniture with clothes draped all over them, bends Dick over one of the sofas and squeezes Dick’s throat with one hands while he shoves his fingers in his mouth with the other. 

Dick moans and begs while Clark stretches him open, practically fucking screams when Clark pushes inside of him so Clark reaches up and cuts it off with his hand tight around Dick’s throat. 

“Quiet,” Clark says next to his ear. “Or do you _want_ Daddy to hear?.”

Dick makes a muffled little noise with the bits of oxygen he has, gasps and swallows down air when Clark shift his hand around so he can get a better grip. 

“Don’t be a pussy,” Dick says on a groan when Clark squeezes the bones in his hip and slams into him, then raises Clark’s hand higher and tightens his own hand around it. “Harder.”

“Pussy hm,” Clark hums and tightens his hand around Dick’s throat, fucks him so hard the sofa screeches across the floor and leaves scratch marks in the wood. “Think you can handle it?”

Dick answers him by grinding back against him, tilting his head back to give Clark more access to his throat. 

Clark knows it's dangerous. Everything’s always dangerous for him, but this especially. He’s hurt more people when he was fucking him than when he was actually trying to kill them. And it’s not even his strength that’s so dangerous, it’s the little, barely-there gasps of air he can hear coming out of their mouths, the way he can _feel_ Dick’s pulse growing slower and slower against the pad of his thumb. 

Dick’s body is swallowed up by Clark, by the hand on his hip, the hand covering his throat, Clark’s cock buried so deep inside of him Dick can probably taste it on the back of his tongue. It’s disgusting how powerful it makes Clark feel, how much _harder_ it makes him when Dick starts to jerk away from his hand, starts gasping for air he can’t get, and Clark comes like a trainwreck, burying his shout into Dick’s hair. 

When he takes his hand away from Dick’s throat Dick gasps and gasps and chokes on air, a hoarse, ragged sound like he’s having to learn how to breath all over again, and Clark feels it when he comes, the tight clench of his hole around his softening cock, hears it in the sobbing sounds he makes when Clark reaches around and strokes him, milking every last drop of come out of him before raising his hand to make Dick lick it off his fingers. 

After they get their pants back up, Dick leans back against the sofa covered in his come and winks at Clark. There’s a fucking necklace of bruises painted all across his throat, Clark’s fingerprints branded onto his left hip. “Wanna do that again sometime?”

Clark just laughs as he walks downstairs. 

It’s cute the kid thinks he’s actually going to make it out of the house alive.


End file.
